Ego's Trap | ✔

47 | His Love

☆☆☆ Chapter 47 ☆☆☆

His Love

*Daniel's Point of View (POV)*

Ah, there it is. Her lovely home. Ane's cozy, lovely home. All that troubled my mind was thrown to the side, in an instant, with just a glance at it.

Thank the gods that the stars aligned just enough for us to cross paths this way; on my way home from Roger's, Ane called for a driver. I had believed that she would spend the night with her parents, but truly, the gods were working in my favor for once. A part of me missed seeing her home far much more than words can describe. I had dedicated so many years to that place, that I can say with confidence that we know each other intimately. Leaving that home behind after having Ane as my employee was heartbreaking in its own special way.

"Master Daniel, should I park in their driveway, or by the curb?"

It contains three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen separated from the dining room with a simple room divider, and a wide living room space that was reserved for quality family time once every two nights during Ane and Teresa's childhood, after their homework was completed, and reviewed by their father. I recall how their father kissed the top of their heads with pride when there was nothing to correct in their work. It had always warmed my heart, made me feel whole when I sought some form of paternal love. From out the window, I would weep in silence, and clench my chest.

I heard my driver fix his throat. "Master Daniel?"

Watching the television and playing cards were but a speck of the fun they seemed to have back then, in the distant past, long before the sisters became shut-ins. Those were dark times, when they became shells of their previous selves. The living room was nothing but a ghost town, and their parents' minds were elsewhere, wondering what went wrong. My feelings mirrored the parents' in that regard. I came back from North Carolina excited to see the bold, lively Ane after so many years, to only see her holed up in her room, staring at a wall, with scars that terrified me to no end. When she would miraculously come out of the room, someone bitter took over her.

I was helpless; I loved her regardless. I wanted her by my side, wanted to help her in any way I could, and I was lonely, far too lonely. It drove me to gamble with love for once.

Liking someone is fun── pleasurable, even. I would know. I've had a couple of those; Charlie, Helena, Genesis, Liam, Jeremy, I could go on and on── but they were all different from love; they weren't intense, they weren't deep, they didn't drive me mad. They didn't feel as if I were drowning in a hot, murky pool of passion, care, and desire. They were nothing but shiny little pebbles that I happened to find on the road. They left me wandering around for something more, something that I couldn't find in cutesy rocks.

I told myself that Ane was the safest gamble of the two. That I can pick myself up from the ground if I were to lose. That the warmth of her underwear was more than enough to keep me at bay, if I were to lose. I would be safe, and calm, knowing that I tried. I would be able to fantasize about her more accurately. I would know the way she would directly speak to me, the look in her eyes when told of how beautiful she is, the smell and feel of her rich skin. Days I would watch her undress, days I would close my eyes and remember, would become all the more exciting, enhanced by our interactions. I told myself that she would be made into a complete muse, if I were to lose. So sick, and yet, so pure. So sickeningly pure.

And so I hired her, and the rest is history.

My driver turned his head to the backseat. "Master Daniel?"

"Ah, yes, yes," I gasped, adjusting my position, trying to shake away certain memories that were rushing in. "Um, by the curb."

It was dark outside, well over eleven o'clock, but in the moonlight, the generally sturdy home before me showed some signs of being on the older side, such as the cracks on the fading color of its outer concrete walls. The windows were, most of the time, open and curious, looking at passersby with a glow that could be seen from a mile away by those who knew its ins and outs. From the car, I noticed the window by the front door wink at me. It didn't take long for it to guide my eyes into the cozy home's living room, whose ceiling light brightened the room so much so that the pattern of the couch was as clear as day: plaid, with variants of brown. If I squinted my eyes and turned my head to a certain degree, the window allowed for me to peek beyond the living room, into the kitchen. I caught a glimpse of the pearly white fridge by the wall furthest from me, and the large, slim figure of a black man in his mid to late fifties, resting his back against a side of the fridge. His arms were crossed, and his head hung low. Ane's father, Bruno Mayflower. He has yet to meet me. Today won't be the day.